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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26007358">sorry baby x</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cq2/pseuds/cq2'>cq2</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Killing Eve (TV 2018), Les Misérables - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crossover, Inspired by Killing Eve (TV 2018), Killing Eve (TV 2018) Season/Series 01, M/M, Nudity, The Kitchen Scene, enjolras as villanelle, grantaire as eve, it's the dress scene, just did a lil rewrite, sorry everyone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:27:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>744</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26007358</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cq2/pseuds/cq2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Enjolras is an assassin and Grantaire is an M16 agent.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sorry baby x</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This scene lives rent free in my brain so. A little rewrite, not word for word, of the infamous dress-in-the-kitchen scene in Killing Eve.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re dripping,” Enjolras stated the obvious. </p><p>Grantaire’s eyes followed a drop of water that fell from his sodden curls. “Am I?” </p><p>“As much as I appreciate dinner, I think I’d rather have it dry,” Enjolras reached for the container of leftovers, brushing Grantaire’s hands aside. He barely flinched this time. Enjolras was pleased. Grantaire let his hands fall awkwardly at his sides, watching Enjolras scoop his girlfriend’s shepherd’s pie on to their plates. </p><p>“Put on something dry,” Enjolras said slowly, as if approaching prey. Grantaire just stared back at him, his teeth chattering. Enjolras nodded at a sweater that had been discarded on the kitchen counter. He moved to put the dishes in the sink behind Grantaire, giving him the illusion of privacy. Not that anything in Grantaire’s life was private anymore. Not to him. </p><p>He watched Grantaire in the reflection of the window above the sink, darkened in the late hours of the night. He watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest, breathing faster than usual. He watched the curve of his spine as he looked down at the buttons of his shirt. He watched the tremors pass through his fingers, making it difficult to work them open. </p><p>Enjolras was across the room before he could stop himself, silent as the night itself. He pressed himself against Grantaire’s sturdy frame, the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne mingling on his skin. He registered Grantaire’s sharp intake of breath. Before Grantaire could try anything stupid, he wrapped nimble fingers around his belt, deftly undoing the buckle. Enjolras watched Grantaire’s throat as he swallowed with difficulty. </p><p>“You seemed to be having trouble,” Enjolras said softly in his ear. The shivering increased as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Grantaire’s boxers, pushing them down along with his jeans until they fell in a soggy puddle at their feet. </p><p>Enjolras moved to the buttons of Grantaire’s shirt, moving easily but without hurry. He didn’t allow himself to touch Grantaire’s chest, but if his fingers accidentally grazed skin as he moved from button to button, well, what could be done about that? Grantaire made no move to stop him. </p><p>After undoing the final button, Grantaire continued to stand stock still. Enjolras pushed the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground along with the clothes still pooled at Grantaire’s ankles. Enjolras took another breath, committing Grantaire’s scent to memory before moving back to the kitchen chair he’d originally intended to occupy. </p><p>Enjolras appraised Grantaire’s body. Sturdy build. Strong arms. Nice cock. Enjolras wondered what he’d feel like inside of him. </p><p>“You have a very nice body,” Enjolras said simply. It was a statement. A fact. </p><p>It seemed to finally stir Grantaire. His eyes flicked up to meet Enjolras’, then away again in embarrassment. He stepped carefully from the soaked jeans, bare feet against the tile as he turned to take the sweater behind him. <em>Nice ass, too,</em> Enjorlas thought idly. He watched the muscles in Grantaire’s torso move as he pulled the sweater over his head, sufficiently hiding his body from view. Enjolras wondered when he’d next see it. </p><p>Grantaire sat across from Enjolras. The shivering has only subsided slightly. Enjolras knew it had little to do with the cold, and more so to do with the adrenaline. Though the excuse had proved valuable. </p><p>Enjolras ate slowly, enjoying the meal. Grantaire made no move to touch his food, watching Enjolras’ mouth as he ate. He made a point to eat slower, languishing in the taste and attention. </p><p>When Enjolras finished, he rose to take his plate, then Grantaire’s, knowing that he wasn’t going to eat tonight. He scraped Grantaire’s untouched food into the bin before placing the plates in the sink and turning on the tap. </p><p>“No, don’t,” Grantaire stopped him, his voice quiet and firm. He stood, crossing to turn the tap off, his body close to Enjolras’. Cigarette smoke again. Cheap cologne. Paint? Coffee on his breath. “You don’t have to,” Grantaire said lamely. </p><p>“You fed me, I don’t mind doing the dishes in return,” Enjolras said politely. </p><p>“No, just leave them,” Grantaire insisted. “My girlfriend will do them when she gets home.” </p><p>Enjolras smiled, waiting until Grantaire had turned his back to let it grow into a smirk. Enjolras could feel the shift in Grantaire taking place, confirming what he thought he knew. And though he’d said so little, Grantaire has said much more than he’d meant to.</p>
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